


sunburned and shoeless

by Nordyr



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25916794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordyr/pseuds/Nordyr
Summary: Lexa learns not all legends are grand and colorful when she is seven. Her broken knees bleed black and Clarke thinks maybe they shouldn’t tellanyone.or;They take her away and dress her in armor, offer loyalty and call her Heda.But to Clarke, she will forever be Lexa, the girl she grew up with.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 12
Kudos: 140





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> surprise! another fic whoop
> 
> i have a lot of feelings about this one, sincerely hope you all enjoy

**2128 / 2129**

**part one: sunburned and shoeless**

> _we were sunburned and shoeless kids  
>  it was the dead of July  
>  i smelled the fireplace, although we were miles away  
>  we were infinite  
>  there was no time in those days_
> 
> _when all we knew wasn’t stolen_
> 
> \- Summer Skeletons, Radical Face  
> 

“Don’t walk on my drawing!”

The sudden cry makes Lexa startle. 

The air is warm and the usual buzz of the village is loud on sunny days like this when people spend most of their time outside. Jortaun is only a small settlement, but it’s _alive_ with farmers and hunters and their tiny houses and the few stray dogs.

Lexa’s feet are bare, her toes digging into the rough combination of cracked concrete and dried earth that covers the ground. When she looks down, however, she finds herself standing in the middle of blurry lines drawn into the dirt. They stretch out around her, probably forming a bigger picture that she can’t make out.

Next to Lexa, a girl is flushed with anger. Her round cheeks are tinted red, a sharp contrast from her summer light hair. She must be new here, because Lexa does not recognize her. After all, there are only five other children in the village and Lexa thinks she certainly would have remembered her. 

The blonde girl angrily throws down the stick she had been using to draw and takes a bold step forward to shove Lexa’s shoulders, her own feet smudging whatever was left of her drawing on the ground. 

It’s not that hard of a push, but Lexa takes a step back to keep her balance. Her eyes widen as she watches the girl’s face get intimidatingly close to her. 

“You walk – on my drawing!” the girl claims exasperated, stepping back again and looking bewildered at whatever must have been her proud creation only moments ago. 

Tears are starting to brew in her shiny eyes and Lexa stands there uselessly, not sure what to do. She ruined the girl’s drawing and now the girl is upset and Lexa doesn’t know how to fix it. 

Right at that moment someone appears from around the corner of the hut, dirty blond hair, a dead deer slung over his shoulders. “What’s wrong, Clarke?”

_Clarke,_ Lexa makes herself remember, _her name is Clarke._

“She broke my drawing,” Clarke sobs, frown in place. 

Lexa feels her stomach sink to her feet. She broke the girl’s drawing.

“Really? I think it looks great,” the man tells her, and Clarke abruptly has to silence her sobs to figure out what he means. 

“Look,” he says, walking up to them and using the nose of his boot to add a single line in the blur of dirt. “It’s a tree.”

“No,” Clarke frowns through forgotten tears, “it’s a horse.”

Lexa watches them quietly and when she glances down at the ground it really does look more like a tree, but she takes a step back and nods at Clarke. 

It’s a horse.

She barely notices how the man with the deer on his shoulders (Jake, she’ll know someday) leaves them again, smiling. 

“You’re new,” Lexa says, watching as the girl crouches down again to work on her ground-drawing like nothing ever happened. 

Clarke doesn’t respond immediately, too focused on the new lines she’s carving into the dirt. Then she looks up at Lexa, as if studying her, considering something.

“D'you want to draw with me?” she asks, ignoring Lexa’s words about her being new here, as if that didn’t matter, as if it didn’t need explaining. (Healers are scarce and Clarke’s mother is the newest blessing to the village, but that’s something Clarke will only come to understand with time.)

So Lexa nods and sits down next to her. The girl is a curious sight, blowing strands of blonde hair out of her face when they get in her eyes and frowning when she makes a mistake, and Lexa gets caught up in the freckles on her cheeks and the small pout on her lips. The sun crosses its midpoint and steadily covers them with the shadows of the village’s small buildings.

(She makes sure no one else walks on Clarke’s drawing.) 

//

Lexa had been born on the brink of winter, early in the year 2128. Clarke had come into the world almost a year later, during the last days of summer. 

(Whenever Lexa subtly mentions that she’s the older one, Clarke just responds by sticking out her tongue.)

(It’s not important.)

Their first years had been simple, wrapped in warm blankets and hidden away from the outside world. But since they’ve been old enough to walk, there hasn’t been a day that the soles of their feet weren’t covered in dirt. 

It is a time of relative peace, one that is not granted to most kids growing up. The only evidence of their awaiting lives is the blood on Abby’s hands that she washes off every night, the groaning of her patients who are sprawled out in a nearby hut and waiting for the antidote to sweep away the newest poison, and the deep scars that run over the bodies of horses and riders.

Other than that, the world is grand. 

They grow up in a small village called _Jortaun,_ surrounded by a dense forest to which their people owe their name. Houses are built from scraps of metal and junk, but lined with animal skins and wooden furniture inside. 

Lexa has always wondered if their ancestors used to live in the actual trees (great tree houses and hollowed trunks decorated with the glow of blue flowers and fireflies in jars – she imagines it could be quite wonderful) but the elders say they’re just called Trikru because they live among one of the greatest woods.

Still, Lexa likes to believe that there is something ancient, something hidden in the trees surrounding them that has the smell of forest running through their blood and making them a species of their own: Tree People.

(One day many years later Clarke will tell Lexa her eyes are green like the trees and Lexa will think that maybe she was right after all.)

(She’ll think Clarke’s eyes are more like the sky, and therefore the universe in its entirety.)

//

Lexa stumbles in place, trying to keep her balance as uncle Gustus pulls the straps of her makeshift armor tighter. 

“Good?” he asks her, and Lexa nods. The leather fits snugly around her chest and stomach, making her straighten her spine and stand a bit taller. 

She’s five summers old now. Not big enough or strong enough to start brawl training with the older kids – at least not without ‘accidentally cracking her skull’, as their trainer put it – but uncle Gustus had decided she was more than ready to learn. She knows the basic things already, of course: how to hold a knife, how to recognize different animal tracks, how to tackle someone larger than her. Things all children should know; their parents or uncles or cousins teach them, and all other things they learn from simply being outside, surrounded by farmers and hunters that don’t mind telling stories.

But today will be different, Lexa knows, because uncle Gustus insisted she wore the extra padding. For a moment she had felt insecure, not ready for _real_ warrior training yet, even if it was only with her uncle. What if she couldn’t keep up? What if she turned out to not be good at it? What if her arms were still too weak to hold up a sword, or her shoulders too thin to carry the armor?

But uncle Gustus had crouched down to her level as if already knowing what troubled her, and had told her not to worry, that she’d only grow stronger before next year. That this could only give her an advantage. Then he had showed her the leather armor, and Lexa’s nerves had turned into excitement.

“Who is this beautiful girl? No one told me such a handsome warrior was coming to visit today.”

Her mother’s voice makes Lexa turn around with a smile. 

“Lexa? Is that you?” Jasmin pretends to be surprised and leans down to kiss her daughter’s cheek. “You look _very_ pretty.”

Lexa scrunches her nose at the kiss – warriors don’t do hugs and kisses from their moms, even if she can’t deny that her mother’s lips feel warm and comforting against her cheek. 

She proudly glances down her own figure, deciding that her mother is right and that she does look like a brave warrior, ready for her first day of training. 

Uncle Gustus waves her towards the door, urging her to go ahead outside. He stays behind to share some mumbled words with her mother – they do that often, like Lexa won’t notice there are things she isn’t supposed to hear. (She does notice.)

It’s a bright day. Summer hasn’t quite arrived yet but it already promises to be warm and suffocating (to bring dehydration and sickly fevers, to be a heavy burden for the village – but that’s not for Lexa to worry about).

After she steps outside, it doesn’t take long for her to wander towards a familiar hut. Uncle Gustus will know where to find her, she thinks. She’s glad to see Clarke outside and when the girl notices her as well, she runs up to Lexa with a grin and pulls her along to show the newest creation she made.

“It’s a bird,” Clarke tells her, proudly looking at the blurry lines in the sand, and Lexa is glad for the explanation because now she can’t accidentally get it wrong. 

“Oh,” Lexa says. “I like birds.”

Crows are her favorite, though uncle Gustus had once told her that they clean up the dead on a battlefield by pecking the flesh off their bones. That had scared her a little, but they’re still her favorite.

Clarke looks at her, studying Lexa’s outfit. “You going to fight?”

“Training,” she says. “Uncle says it’ll make me stronger.”

Clarke’s eyebrows scrunch together. Lexa doesn’t notice; she gets distracted by the pack of hunters that arrive back at the village gate, loudly cheering their victory. Two boars are tied by their hinds on a log the hunters carry between them, while another carries a few bloody rabbits strung together – a proud display of tonight’s dinner. A crowd gathers to welcome them home and Clarke and Lexa get swept up in the excitement.

Later, Gustus indeed knows where to find her. They train for a full candle mark and the armor doesn’t protect Lexa from bruises. She’s tired and frustrated afterwards, and thinks she’ll never be ready for a real fight – but she and Clarke play by the lake for the rest of the day, trying to scare frogs so they jump into the water, and training seems like such a trivial thing to worry about. 

//

If there is such a thing as time, a clock counting down the seconds of their innocence, they don't notice. Every day feels like a bright new adventure, even if the world dims around them.

Clarke’s melodic laugh rings out from below and Lexa smiles at the sound. She looks down to see her friend grasping onto tree branches and trying to make her way up to where Lexa sits. Her movements are clumsy and Lexa bites her lip in amusement. 

She reaches out a helping hand and Clarke doesn’t hesitate to take it, huffing loudly as if saying _finally._ Clarke swings her other arm around the thick branch and it’s not long before she sits across from Lexa with a proud smile on her face.

“You really should get better at tree climbing, Clarke,” Lexa says, pretending she doesn’t like the way Clarke reaches out for her hand even when she doesn’t need it. 

Clarke averts her eyes down, a blushing grin on her bright cheeks. She blows a strand of blonde hair from the side of her face. “Why do you always have to climb so high?”

They’re seven feet up in the air and it really isn’t that high; but to them, it seems like they’re on top of the world. Balancing herself carefully – one hand on Lexa’s shoulder and the other gripping the tree bark – Clarke reaches for a pair of green apples that hang on a branch above them. 

Lexa shrugs. “It’s nice. I can see everything.” The tin roofs of their homes and the hills in the distance, the half-broken wire fence that circles Jortaun. She can even see the northern tree line, where no one ever goes. 

Clarke hands her one of the apples, wearing a cheeky smile because she knows Lexa prefers the red ones. 

“Look,” Lexa says, smiling to show off the gap in her mouth. “I lost one of my teeth.”

Clarke grins at her through a mouthful of apple, wiping off some of the juice on her chin with the back of her hand. They don’t talk much; the late-afternoon sun shines on their faces and they are free. 

//

There’s a trail of blood leading from the medic tent’s entrance to the table where the hunter lies. A deep gash on the side of his chest reveals angry red skin and bone. Abby presses an alcohol-doused patch against the wound and the young man groans through his clenched teeth. 

“Lincoln.” Abby calls for him, nodding towards the patient, and her second dutifully tips the jug of alcohol to the hunter’s lips until he swallows. 

“Say there’s no alcohol…” Abby starts, her hand still firmly in place. “What else could we use as a disinfectant?”

Lincoln glances at the powdered herbs lined out on the shelf. It’s a hypothetical question, he knows; they always have alcohol, even if they run out of herbs and food and water.

“Yarrow.” 

Abby nods without taking her eyes off her work. Lincoln almost wants to smile in pride at getting it right, but it’s a grim job they have and it never feels appropriate. 

He’s eight summers old and softer than his father would like, but bright. When Abby and Jake moved into the village, it had been a relief for everyone to have a healer nearby. Before, the nearest medic was a day’s walk away – sometimes too far to even risk. 

Lincoln hadn’t expected to become a healer’s second and it was probably not what was planned for him, either. But Abby had seen him sketching in his little notebook, drawing meadows and blackbirds and familiar faces, and just like that it was settled.

“There are others,” Lincoln had said, sure that she was making a rushed decision, “older than me, better.”

“You’re calmer than they are,” she had said. “I need steady hands.”

He turned out to be a quick learner and when he helped Abby save a life for the first time, he realized there are different kinds of honor. His father still says that enemies don’t cower before a healer, that it doesn’t show the strength and bravery of a warrior or give him scars to be proud of – the cut on his lip and the bruises from training don’t count – but at least he’s doing something useful.

The smell of blood is one that Clarke has already learned to recognize. Her nose wrinkles as she and Lexa enter the medic’s hut. Kids aren’t really supposed to come here; it’s said they’re too vulnerable to fall sick – but it’s where her mother spends most her time, so Clarke never hesitates to go in anyway. 

The two sickbeds in the room are empty and the only patient lies on the table, barely conscious. Potted plants stand in the corners of the room, and on the walls hang dream catchers and old drawings of the human anatomy and detailed flowers with complicated names. 

Clarke is careful to avoid the blood on the ground as she steps closer to the table. Lexa follows beside her, looking out of place.

“What happened?” Clarke watches as her mother finishes closing up the wound. 

Abby’s brow furrows. It’s no surprise she dislikes Clarke showing up in the middle of the sick and wounded. It’s an instinctive feeling, the need to protect her daughter from the sight of decay – irrational, too, because it’s something to get used to.

“They say a boar attacked him,” Lincoln answers. “Took him to the ground and dug a tusk into his side before the others could catch it.”

The wound is sealed with a green ointment and a bandage around the hunter’s chest. Abby washes her hands at the rusty sink in the corner and tells Lincoln to do the same. 

She looks tired, Clarke thinks, and the sun hasn’t even gone down yet. 

“Nothing we can do now. He needs rest,” Abby says. Her hands still look pink as she dries them on a towel. “You can go, Lincoln.”

He nods.

“You two as well. Go on,” Abby shoos them away but not before giving them a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight, okay?”

/

But dinner isn’t for another three candle marks at least. Outside, Lexa toys with the buckle on her leather vest. She’s barely taken it off since uncle Gustus gave it to her; although it’s almost too warm on days like this, she likes how the makeshift armor makes her feel safer. 

They still have a whole afternoon to fill and Lexa tries to think of something to pass the time.

“Let’s go out,” she says. Out of the village, into the dense tree line that always has new places and hollows to discover. Sometimes they find teepees made from sticks, probably built by other kids from the village, or rabbit and pheasant traps set by the hunters. 

Lincoln looks skeptical at first, probably thinking of the boar that attacked the hunter and the blood he had only just washed off his hands. Clarke, on the other hand, grins excitedly as if it’s the best idea ever. She’s grabbing Lexa’s hand and leading them towards the woods. 

“Okay,” Lincoln says as they leave the village’s perimeter, “but we shouldn't go too far.”

Clarke doesn’t seem to hear him. She’s glancing around nervously as they step through a broken fence that might’ve once kept things from going in – and out – of Jortaun. It suddenly feels as if they’re doing something dangerous, as if they should fear getting caught, but Lexa pushes down her worry. The woods close to the village aren’t too dangerous; they’ve gone out there plenty of times before. 

Lincoln probably knows they would’ve gone without him as well – so he follows them anyway, with a tight grip on the stone dagger that hangs from his belt. 

They’re five minutes into their adventure and the forest canopy lets through rays of sunlight, highlighting their path through the thicket. The sound of a woodpecker echoes above them. Clarke is leading them down some invisible path, using a stick she found to swipe at random branches and bushes for no clear reason.

“Okay,” Clarke says thoughtfully, swiping at a particular branch they pass. “Would you rather fight a super big squirrel, or… a very small wolf?”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “You always ask weird questions, Clarke.” Like, _why is the sky blue but not always;_ and _where does the wind come from._ Lexa’s answer is usually the same: _I don’t know,_ and somehow that’s often enough for Clarke, like it’s okay if they don’t know the answers together. 

“Wolf, definitely,” Lincoln says, climbing over a fallen tree in their path. “Then it’s just a puppy.”

“No, it’s a big wolf, with teeth and everything,” Clarke clarifies. “Just smaller.”

“Oh.”

“I think the squirrel would be better,” Clarke continues, turning to look at her two friends earnestly. “’Cause if you want to tame it, it’s easy. You just have to collect a lot of acorns.” 

Lexa doesn’t quite know where Clarke comes up with these imaginary beings (there are many animals out there but she’s fairly sure there’s no such thing as _giant squirrels_ ), or why she kind of loves hearing about them even though they’re very much not real. “I don’t think general Voros would like it if we brought home a very large squirrel.” 

“General Voros doesn’t like _anything,_ ” Clarke grumbles. “We wouldn’t have to tell him.”

Lexa has to smile at that, not sure how they would hide a giant squirrel between the village huts. She’s watching the ground as she follows (much more quietly) in Clarke’s footsteps, avoiding twigs and leaves if possible. And it’s not good to keep her eyes down like this, she knows – but it’s really hard to move quietly and be aware of her surroundings at the same time, and she’s still practicing. Besides, Lincoln is with them so she doesn’t have to be _that_ alert. 

The sound of running water makes Lexa look up. “We’re at the river already.” The stream runs from the east down south, though they’re not sure where it ends or starts. Crossing it would bring them to the dirt road that’s used by travelers. They say the road eventually leads to the capitol if you follow it far enough, but they’re not really supposed to cross the water. 

Clarke looks almost surprised they’ve come this far. She frowns, looks around restlessly. Trying to decide whether they go left or right. Right is where Quint and his brother often play, climbing trees and digging holes, so it’s no surprise when they go left. They follow the shallow stream of water, frogs croaking before jumping away at the sound of footsteps. 

They’ve never gone too far in this direction. The ground is a little slippery upstream so they usually circle back to the village. 

“We should be back before dinner, Klark,” Lexa thinks out loud as she follows her friend, climbing up the slope towards a small waterfall. 

Clarke grins, waits a moment for her friends to catch up. “Or we can build a hut and stay here forever.”

Lincoln has collected a handful of blueberries from bushes they’ve passed and looks doubtful as he passes a few to both of them. “Not forever.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and stuffs the blueberries in her mouth and Lexa laughs; when Clarke says _forever_ she means half a day at most. They’ve built huts before, secret hideouts that only she and Clarke know about (broken branches stacked against fallen logs, big enough to fit only the two of them). But they always return home.

In the corner of her eye, Lexa notices movement near the water. A doe is leisurely drinking from the cool stream, unaware of them until someone lets out a quiet gasp. The deer freezes, it’s big eyes and ears turned towards them, before sprinting away from the stream. The three of them share a quick look – excitement in their eyes, mutual agreement – before breaking into a run to chase it. 

(It’s the only logical reaction, really – if they catch it, they’ll bring it home like the hunters do and everyone will cheer for them.)

The deer is too fast for them and gone before they know it, but they’re jumping and dashing through the woods as if they could keep up with it. The air whooshes around their ears, hands scraping the bark of trees, and for a moment Lexa feels like she could fly. This has to be one of her favorite feelings in the world: where they’re free and unstoppable and there’s nothing else but the forest around them. 

Without warning, Clarke skids to a stop. Lexa bumps into her and they almost lose their footing, clumsily pulling each other upright. 

“What is it?” Lincoln asks, but there’s no need for an answer once he sees it too. The entrance to a large, pitch dark cave lies in front of them, hallowed out underneath a small cliff. Moss covers the stones on the outside and a spider web stretches to a nearby birch tree. 

Lexa swallows. She feels Clarke reach for her hand. “Do you think there’s anything inside?” _Or anyone._

Lincoln stays quiet. He steps closer to the hollow, holding his knife tightly. Then: “I think it’s a bear cave.”

Lexa feels her heart speed up. They’ve never seen a real bear – not a _live one,_ anyway. On cold days some of the villagers wear bearskins, and Lexa is fairly sure that one of the large, brown pelts on their bed is from a bear as well. If she remembers correctly, that means bears are much, much larger than they are. 

Lexa takes a breath, rounds up her courage. She’s not sure her leather vest is going to protect her from the blow of a bear claw, but they _have_ to investigate this cave. They can’t just leave and go back home without ever knowing what was inside – that would be a coward’s route, a shameful story to never be told. 

With quiet footsteps the three of them move forward.

“If there’s a bear,” Lincoln whispers, “wave your hands above your head so you’ll look taller.”

Lexa shares a look with Clarke and knows they’re thinking the same thing. If there’s a bear, they’ll _run._ Adrenaline is rushing through them and suddenly every sound is much louder, every movement is careful. 

Once they step inside the hollow, it’s not as dark as they expected it to be. Light bounces off the walls and it’s not long before they can see the end of the cave. 

“It’s empty,” Lincoln says, and all three of them release a breath. 

A drop of water falls from the ceiling, echoing through the cave. 

“This is _so cool,_ ” Clarke says, still half a whisper. 

Lincoln nods, his eyes roaming over the cave walls. He sheathes his dagger and reaches inside his pocket, taking out a piece of charcoal.

“What are you doing?” Lexa asks. She watches as he starts scribbling black lines onto the stone. 

“Drawing us,” he answers, his eyes narrowed in concentration, “so everyone knows we were here.”

For some reason that sounds like a great idea. Lexa thinks maybe she and Clarke should do that as well sometime; mark their hideouts to show it’s _theirs._

Lincoln doesn’t spend much time on the drawing, leaves out the details, and it’s perfect.

//

Jasmin smiles warmly when Clarke follows Lexa into their home that evening, and places a kiss on both their heads. 

They climb up to sit on the dinner table and with a small frown Jasmin scolds Lexa for the rip in her trousers, made earlier that day by a particular branch that had gotten in her way. Clarke watches the interaction quietly from where she sits next to Lexa, legs dangling off the table and with a small, mischievous smile. 

“We found a cave,” Lexa tells her mother, as if the discovery is compensation for the hole in her jeans. “We thought there was a bear but there wasn’t.”

A small, worried frown creases the woman’s forehead and Clarke is quick to assure her, “Lincoln was with us.”

With a relenting smile, Lexa’s mother shoos them off the table and gathers a few bowls from the cupboard. “There are things in this world even brave Lincoln wouldn’t stand a chance against.” 

She cooks up food for the girls and Clarke doesn’t worry; her parents will know where to find her. When they’re seated around the table, Lexa bumps her shoulder to get her attention and reveals a handful of acorns from her pocket, quietly collected throughout the afternoon. Clarke giggles until there are tears in her eyes, because if there’s a giant squirrel, at least they’ll be prepared – and Lexa has never looked happier.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there friends. the updates are slow and i apologize - school's started again and i've been slammed with essays and reading. i bet a lot of you can relate so i won't cry about it too much.
> 
> nevertheless, i hope you enjoy the new chapter c:

Lexa doesn’t understand why uncle Gustus had only given her body armor if he’s going to hit her legs all the time.

She’s balanced on a wooden post, practice staff in hand – though she’s barely used it. Instead, she’s been jumping back and forth between the wooden posts, trying to evade her uncle’s attacks without falling off.

Another swipe at her feet and Lexa jumps back, frustration evident on her face. She tries to counterattack, which is rather difficult while trying to keep her balance – but Gustus doesn’t look fazed as he parries the wide swing. 

And all of this is totally _unfair_.

The back of Lexa’s neck is sticky with sweat and her arm is tired from holding up the wooden staff. She is _very_ close to throwing her weapon on the ground in frustration and stalking off, maybe scream some bad words at her uncle. 

“Keep your knees bent,” Gustus murmurs. It’s the third time he’s said that this afternoon. The other times he spoke, it was something along the lines of _chin up_ or _don’t rush_. But Lexa is tired – especially tired of this fight that doesn’t feel like a fight at all.

She huffs and does as told, jumping off the fence post and bending her knees far enough to sit down on the ground.

Gustus raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“This is stupid,” Lexa grumbles, resting her chin on her hand. She’d never admit to being tired, not if she wants her uncle to take her seriously. “When are we going to practice _real_ fights?” 

“Real fights?”

“Yes,” Lexa huffs, standing up again, “because warriors don’t jump back and forth on fences all day!”

Something about that makes Gustus look at her with amusement. He takes a step back and his face is solemn again when he says, “Okay.”

Lexa is not sure what to do for a moment. She didn’t expect it to be that easy. 

He nods at her to make the first move, and Lexa’s fingers flex around the practice staff in her hand. She takes a quick stride forward and tries to swipe at Gustus’ shoulder. He bounces the blow with his own wooden stick – and again, and again – then makes a point of striking at Lexa’s side. She jumps back to avoid the blow, trips over an exposed tree root, and falls into the dirt.

Gustus taps the end of his stick against Lexa’s shoes. “Footwork.”

//

They’re told to stay away from _tek_ of the old world, that it harbors secrets and dangers which should remain buried. That only serves to make some people more curious, but only the foolish, according to the elders. It nearly ended humanity once and that should be enough reason to let it rest.

The world as they know it started only a hundred years ago, with a loud boom and a flash that blinded everyone. 

(None of them were alive to see it, not even the elders that remain – the _Hunin_ and _Munin_ – even though they often act like they were.)

What they do know about the old world is scattered throughout the forest: strange, metal boxes with seats in them, bunkers filled with dust and bones, rusty signs that still point to villages. Some of the stories are said to be captured in books; most of those would be at the capitol, where there are people who know how to read them.

But the stories as Clarke and Lexa know them are told by the village elders, who look tired and hunched over but always speak with bright, sparkling eyes. _Munin_ carries a stick with her wherever she goes, and she uses it now to tap at the stone structure that might have been a fountain once. 

“ _Goufa_ like you were sent away during the day.” The group of children remains silent, all seven of them. Behind the elder lies a broken set of stone stairs, leading to a platform that barely exists anymore. Vines and shrubbery have broken through the cracks until the ruins had succumbed and became part of the forest.

“They had buildings tall as mountains. Reached the sky, almost. Buildings full of rooms and rooms, and that’s–” The elder pauses to cough. A high pitched, heaving noise that barely concerns them anymore. She clears her throat, and her croaky voice continues. “That’s where they put you with the others. To learn.”

Ollie kicks his foot against the fountain. “How to survive?” He’s Quint’s younger brother, about the same age and height as Clarke. They call him Pebble due to his habit of collecting stones wherever he goes. Even now, his pockets are clearly filled with small rocks that he’ll use for his slingshot later. 

“How to get coin,” the elder corrects him. She reaches out to the bottom of the dried up fountain and fishes out a small, round piece of metal. It’s rusty brown and covered in dirt. She holds it up to the sunlight and uses her thumb to scrub away the earth. “These were worth everything. Wars were fought over it. Wars depended on it. Without coin, one had nothing.”

“So it _was_ to survive,” Lincoln says.

The elder hums. “Smart boy.” She passes him the coin and glances at the bottom of the fountain. “Should be more in there. But if you find some, don’t take them back to _taun_. Leave them here, where they belong.” 

They scatter, curious to find something themselves. Clarke is quick to find a small, silver coin: it has an ugly, cranky face on one side and a strange symbol on the other. She pokes at Lexa’s side to get her friend’s attention, but Lexa has already found one as well. 

“They’re not even pretty,” Lexa mumbles, inspecting the metal up close. “Why did people like them so much?”

Clarke shrugs, hands Lexa the one she found as well. “Maybe they were prettier before. I just like them because they’re from the old world.” She whispers the last part, as if it’s a crime – but that’s okay, because Lexa would never judge her. 

Around them, the other kids are doing their own thing. Quint has climbed on top of what’s left of the fountain’s statue, daring the others to climb up as well, while his younger brother is collecting pebbles and coins below. Lincoln has wandered off and is hunched over his notebook, making a sketch of the ruins around them. 

No one is paying attention to them and Lexa stuffs the coins in her pocket, quickly and nervously. 

Clarke watches with wide eyes. She’s never seen her friend do something like this before, breaking the rules. Lexa is not like Pebble, who everyone knows is always up to some mischief and rarely honest in his words. If anything, Lexa is the _opposite_ of that. She gets nauseous with guilt if she tells a lie and can’t go to sleep when she’s done something bad, for fear of getting caught. 

And okay, taking coins from the fountain probably isn’t that big of a deal – but the elder had said _not to take them home_ and Lexa most definitely heard her say it.

Clarke, however, doesn’t ask questions. Not now, at least. Not yet. Once they’re back at the village and they can hide behind that large, hollow oak tree where no one will hear them talk, she’ll find out what’s going on.

For now she just bites her lip and pretends nothing happened. If Lexa’s going to break the rules, Clarke is obviously going to help her do it.

The trek back to the village is calm. They’re accompanied by the two hunters that had gone with them into the woods to scout the area, just in case, like usual. Of course the elder had grumbled that it was completely unnecessary, that no sane man would trouble a group of children and an old lady. One of the hunters had replied that there weren’t many sane men left, and that had ended the discussion.

“Time will come when this can’t happen anymore, _Munin_.” The hunter doesn’t meet her eyes. Behind them, the chatter of children continues. “You’ll have to tell your stories inside the village.” 

The elder doesn’t respond. She walks on, planting her stick down in the earth with every step.

“Voros won’t allow it next time,” the hunter adds.

The elder scoffs. “I remember Voros a child, no bigger than that tree stump. He was a rowdy one, mind you. Always getting into trouble. Used to hide in the trees, thinking he was a _shado_ from the stories. And now you’re telling me he wants to keep the children inside, like he has forgotten what it means to be young.”

The hunter looks apologetic. No doubt he remembers his own afternoons in the forest, listening to the very same stories being told by the elder. “I’m sorry. He just wants you safe. The children, too. That’s most important.” 

//

Clarke has a firm grip on Lexa’s hand and is pulling her to the edge of the village, towards the land where the people plant crops and hope the sun doesn’t burn them. 

There’s one broad, crooked oak tree that must be a hundred years old. It’s branches are too high for climbing but it offers the perfect hiding spot, just out of sight from the rest of the village. (If there is such a thing as having a favorite tree, this is theirs.) 

The path is familiar and Lexa follows without a word. Bumblebees are zooming between the grass and sunflowers, a brief reminder there must be honey nearby, and it feels like the perfect day of spring. But then Clarke tugs her friend behind the tree trunk and urgently crowds her space.

“You took the coins.”

“What?” Lexa’s eyes are wide and she sounds breathless, her back pressed against the tree bark.

“You took. The coins,” Clarke repeats. She reaches for the pocket on Lexa’s trousers, where she _knows_ they’re hidden, but her friend pushes her hand away. 

It’s a quick struggle and Lexa ends up holding Clarke’s wrists, keeping her from finding proof.

“Clarke!”

“Why’d you take them?” she asks, curiosity in her eyes and ignoring the way Lexa got the upper hand.

Lexa sighs and loosens her grip. “You said you liked them.”

“Yeah.” 

Lexa rolls her eyes. “So I took them.”

It takes way too long for Clarke to understand what she means. Lexa took them for her, because she liked them, because they were from the old world. Lexa took them for her, even though she probably didn’t understand why Clarke liked them so much.

Lexa took them for her. It brings the brightest smile to Clarke’s face and makes her stomach do weird flips because Lexa must be the best friend there is and there’s a little blush on her cheeks and, well – Clarke just loves her. 

She hugs her friend tightly and presses a wet kiss to her cheek and says exactly that, laughter in her voice: “I love you.”

//

Ten miles away, in another village, things are less peaceful.

“Show us the child.”

Fourteen year old Anya clenches her teeth, hand on the sword on her hip. The baby’s crying can be heard from inside the tent but she stands firmly in her spot next to her brother, half his size but equal in wits, as they block the tent’s entrance. 

“You have no business going in,” Tomas tells the elder. His fingers flex around the hilt of his sword. “Our mother is weak, she has just given birth.”

“Which is why I need to check on her and the child. You know tradition,” the elder says as he and the two warriors behind him – lapdogs, Anya thinks – step closer to the pair blocking their way. “Now step aside, boy.”

They more or less ignore her completely and, stubborn as she is, Anya feels a little offended. Through the tense silence that follows, only filled by the gritting of her own teeth and the harsh noise of the elder breathing through his nose, Anya realizes the baby has gone quiet.

The guards take another threatening step forward until they’re practically pressed up against Tomas’ chest, staring him down. Finally, her brother takes a step aside and the three men waste no time pushing themselves past the siblings. The tent’s cloth entrance is harshly pulled aside – too harshly for a home where a baby is just born – and the elder comes to an abrupt halt when he finds the place empty.

Two small chairs, an empty basket and wooden table. There’s nowhere to hide – they’re gone: mother, father, the disfigured baby, all three of them. The elder turns back to the entrance of the tent where Tomas is already waiting for him, empty look on his face and sword in hand. 

Before Anya fully understands what’s happening, it has happened.

“Track them,” the old man says, less an order than a chess move.

Tomas sighs. 

They clash.

//

Clarke knows the sword hanging on the wall above their dining table is a relic – or at least it is to her family. A memento from the time that not a day went by without a bloody fight; when raiders and war were so common that everyone needed their own blade.

(Everyone, including pregnant women and children who had barely learned to walk. Now most people still have their own blade; in Jortaun there’s just not the same _need_ attached to it.)

This one’s her father’s. He barely looks at it anymore. Nowadays he carries knives and cleavers; whatever he needs to skin the game the hunters catch. 

She’s not sure why he doesn’t carry it anymore, why it’s on the wall instead. It’s no special sword by any means: a basic blade and basic handle – but it feels like much more. 

“Dad?”

“Hm?” Jake is using a knife to chop broccoli, the smell of stew filling their home. Clarke thinks it’s amazing how her father is _always_ good with a blade – whether it’s skinning deer or cutting vegetables super fast. 

“Will I get my own sword?”

Jake pauses, glances at her. “Would you like to?”

She nods with conviction as he continues his work on the food. “Gustus is already teaching Lexa to fight.”

“No… How to defend, I’m sure,” Jake chuckles.

“Dad,” Clarke whines, tugs on his arm. “Will you train with me?”

He stays silent for a moment and it’s almost as if he’s ignoring her, but there’s a frown on his face that says he’s thinking.

“Fighting is not as glorious as you think, Clarke,” he says quietly. “You’ll start training soon, with the others.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. She’s seen the training sessions of the older kids: brawls in the dirt and staff duels that usually leave someone with a bleeding nose or skinned knees.

It’s basic. There’s no reason her father can’t teach her how to be a better fighter in the meantime. Gustus does the same for Lexa. And she knows Quint is trained by his father, always with real swords that leave nasty cuts and bruises, so he can be a warrior later. 

“But you can teach me _now_.” Clarke is not sure her father knows that he’s a hero in her eyes and that she’s dying to make him proud. “You’re the best warrior in the world.”

“Was,” he corrects her, finally stopping what he’s doing to crouch down to her level. “I _was_ a warrior. Now I’m just your dad, and an amazing cook, and I’m okay with that.”

He ruffles her hair affectionately and Clarke sighs in disappointment, filled with the strange feeling of falling behind. 

“But…” Jake mumbles, casually getting back up to add the chopped broccoli to the cooking pot, “I suppose if I were to teach you a thing or two, you’d also need to get stronger. Which would mean finishing your vegetables every night.”

And after dinner, just before the sun goes down, when they’re outside and Jake shows her the first of many attack sequences, Clarke realizes this: her father might have hung up his sword and the title of warrior with it, but he doesn’t really need them to be a hero.

//

“Where is he going?” 

Lexa watches as the horse works its jaws around the bridle bit. The chestnut mare is almost three times her size, grand and intimidating. The stable boy tightens the saddle around its belly, earning an irritated huff from the animal.

“I don’t know,” she answers Clarke. Another village, probably. Lexa doesn’t remember what uncle Gustus told her; she was too distracted by the fact that he was leaving again. 

“What about training?” she had asked while he fixed the buckles and belts of his armor, and he had chuckled and ruffled her hair and told her to look after her mother. (And that wasn’t an answer at all.)

They had just started training with the bow, too. It was too big for her, almost bigger than Lexa herself; but it was an old bow and the string wasn’t too tight, so it would do for practice. (According to Lexa, the string _was_ too tight and her arms would ache terribly afterwards.)

She wasn’t great at aiming yet, or keeping posture, or finding the right stance. But she was learning, and every now and then she would manage to hit the target when it was a tree trunk or a bale of hay. She’d beam brightly at her uncle while Gustus would try to hide his smile and mumble _again_. 

And even though he always made her fetch all the arrows, no matter where they landed, training with her uncle was still one of Lexa’s favorite things to do – and she’ll miss him. Her mother always misses him, too; with a soft sadness in her eyes that Lexa tries her best to take away. But the village feels emptier without him around.

Gustus has been taking a lot of trips to other villages lately, and Lexa even heard him talking about _the capitol_ with her mother. She knows that he’s a good warrior (she’s seen the burn marks on his back) but it’s still unfair that _he_ has to go, and not someone else. 

“He’ll come back soon.” She feels Clarke put an arm around her shoulders, familiar, almost too much when it’s warm outside and she’s upset that her uncle is leaving and it’s always hard to breathe around Clarke in the first place. 

The horse in front of them nickers and lowers its head to sniff at their faces. It makes Lexa grin, if only for a moment. 

“I think she likes the two of you,” Gustus says as he walks up. He feeds the mare a carrot that looks fresh from the ground. “Maybe even more than she likes me.”

That’s a joke, Lexa knows. Although the village shares the few horses they have, Gustus has never picked a different one. There’s a story behind it that Lexa’s been begging to hear, but he always brushes it off. 

(She still insists he should name the horse; he disagrees.)

Gustus is wearing his nice armor: the pants with a dozen pockets on the front and the large belt that looks sturdy enough to carry any weapon. His tunic is dark leather and has steel plates as shoulder guards, while he wears a long, tattered coat over it that almost reaches to the ground. 

It must be warm underneath all that, but Gustus doesn’t seem to mind. He looks down at the two of them, the shade that falls on his face almost looking like war paint. 

Lexa suddenly gets a terrible, suffocating feeling.

Gustus crouches down to their level. The horse nudges against his side and he chuckles, trying not to fall over.

“Remember what I told you, yes?” he says to Lexa, and she nods. _Keep your knees bent, chin up, don’t rush, take care of your mother–_

He envelops the two of them in a bear hug, briefly, his beard tickling Lexa’s ear. And she really doesn’t want him to go. But then he’s standing up and taking the reins from the stable boy and it’s only a short walk to the gates.

There’s a few waves and shouts of goodbye from passing villagers. Jasmin finds them at the main gate, quiet and composed. She presses a kiss to Gustus’ cheek and comes to stand behind Lexa, hands on her small shoulders, as they watch him ride off.

“He’ll come back soon,” Lexa says, echoing Clarke’s words from earlier, looking up at the contours of her mother’s face.

Jasmin hums. “He always does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LORE TIME (for those who care)
> 
> _Hunin_ and _Munin_ are derrived from the old norse mythological _Huginn_ and _Muninn_ , two ravens that flew around the world every day and informed Odin of everything they saw. Their names mean something close to 'thought' and 'memory'. More broadly, the raven was also referred to as 'year-counter'.  
> In this story _Hunin_ and _Munin_ are customary titles for elders, related to their wisdom and collected memories. 
> 
> yes, i'm a nerd. sue me.


End file.
